


god only knows

by jesterwrites



Category: BioShock Infinite, Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Oops, Quantum Mechanics, Why do I do this to myself, anyway i hope u like this, bioshock infinite au, bobby and crowley are the lutece twins, castiel is elizabeth, dean is booker, has this been done?, it's probably been done, who's ready for another series?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-06
Updated: 2015-11-06
Packaged: 2018-04-30 07:34:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5155556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jesterwrites/pseuds/jesterwrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is the story of the city in the clouds, the heavenly facade hiding dark, terrible secrets.<br/>This is the story of the boy, the lamb, the bird freed from his cage.<br/>This is the story of the man, the false shepherd, the savior and the sinner.<br/>This is the story of the prophet, the liar, the crazed zealot.<br/>This is their story: the lives, the deaths, both sides of the coin.<br/>Will the circle be unbroken?</p><p> </p><p>ON HIATUS</p>
            </blockquote>





	god only knows

**Author's Note:**

> why am i starting a new series? oh well.  
> here's the bioshock infinite crossover noone asked for but i'm writing anyway.  
> enjoy *rolls into dumpster bc im trash*

1912  
The coast of Maine. 

Rain. 

Cold, harsh rain, pelting down into Dean's eyes and blinding him, blurring the stormy sea around him. His head ached; he was dizzy and only dimly aware of the bantering pair in front of him in the rowboat. 

"Are ya really gonna just sit there?" 

"As opposed to what? Standing?" 

"I mean rowing the boat-" 

"I certainly hadn't planned on it." 

As he said this, the man closest to Dean turned around and handed him a wooden box. Dean read the inscription on the metal plate adorning the lid and realized it was his own.  
Property of Dean Winchester- Seventh Cavalry, Wounded Knee. 

"So you're expectin' me to shoulder the burden?" 

Dean ran his hand over the plate and opened the lid. 

"No, but I do expect you to do all the rowing. You know I don't approve of the entire thought experiment." 

"Excuse me," he interrupted, in a voice strangely rough from disuse but still loud enough to break through the constant crash-hiss of the ocean and rain. "How much longer?" 

"Look, you start an experiment knowin' you could fail-" 

"But one doesn't go into an experiment knowing one has failed-" 

"Can we just get back to the rowing?" 

"I suggest you do," the man in the middle of the boat said haughtily, "or we're never going to get there."  
The boat rocked with the turbulent waves. Dean opened the box. 

"No, I mean I'd appreciate it if you'd help out." 

"Why don't you ask him? I imagine he has a greater interest in getting there than I do." 

Dean picked up the pistol that was inside the box and pocketed it. Beneath lay a photograph of a young man- the boy that Dean would be retrieving. The boy was pale, with dark hair, wearing a starched white shirt trimmed with blue. Written on the top border of the photo was his name.  
Castiel. 

His face looked oddly familiar but Dean had never met him before. 

He flipped the photograph over and read the caption, written in a messy scrawl across the back: Bring to New York, unharmed. 

Dean listened absently to the two men argue about rowing the boat as he examined the boy's face again. He continued his search of the box, pocketing the photograph as well as a slip of paper with pictures of a key, scroll, and sword, a postcard from a place called Monument Island, and several coins. 

At the very bottom of the box, knocking against the wooden edge, was a small, metal, key-shaped object. On one side of the flat end was a picture of a bird, while the other side bore a cage. 

"We've arrived," said the dark-haired man in the middle, his tone observant. Dean slid the key into his pocket and closed the box, setting it beside him as the boat pulled alongside a rickety wooden ladder attached to a weather-beaten, rain-soaked dock. 

The two men in the boat made no move to disembark, so Dean grabbed ahold of the ladder and climbed up onto the dock, his feet sliding a little on the slick wood. He turned around only to find that the odd duo had turned the boat around, back towards shore. 

"Hey, wait!" he called. "Isn't somebody gonna meet me here?"

"I certainly hope so!" The man in the middle replied, his voice muted by the wind but still clearly amused by Dean's predicament.  
He could still hear them bantering as they rowed back out into the storm.

"It would be awful to be stranded out here."

"...Well, at least that's somethin' we can agree on."

Shaking his head, Dean turned toward the lighthouse, the hulking gray tower glistening with rain and seawater. The light itself was turned off.  
Carefully, he made his way along the dock to the sodden steps leading to the lighthouse door. He was about to knock but stopped short when he saw the paper, plastered to the wet wood, ink blurred with water, but still readable: Bring us the boy and wipe away the debt. This is your last chance, Winchester.

An uneasy feeling settled over Dean as he reached out to push open the door. It swung inward with a jarring creak, revealing the dimly lit interior of the lighthouse. As he stepped inside, the drone of the rain gave way to the sound of slightly muted music, drifting down from one of the upper floors.

In front of him was a basin of water, the wall behind it bearing the cross-stitch message "Of thy sins shall I cleanse thee."  
Dean scoffed, glancing at his own reflection in the still water before turning away.

"Yeah, right. Good luck with that."

To his right was a spiral staircase, running along the curved wall of the building to the next floor.  
The music grew louder as he ascended, and he could hear the lyrics clearly: The old time religion, it's good enough for me.

Dean's discomfort was growing by the minute. He'd never been one for religion, and the abundance of references was starting to get to him. Faith was for people who didn't want to face their own shortcomings, who begged for forgiveness even when their sins were unforgivable.  
He made it to the top of the stairs, finding himself in a modest living area with a bed, sink and storage shelf. Odds and ends were scattered throughout, and Dean paused to examine the large silver coins on the shelf. Figuring they'd be worth something, he pocketed them. The radio on the shelf was the source of the music, and he switched it off before heading up the next flight of stairs.

He was met with a startling sight. Blood splattered the walls and floor, painting the wood an ugly brown-red color that looked even more disturbing in the dim light. Tied to a chair against the wall was a dead body, with a bag tied over his head and a bullet hole through said bag. On his chest was yet another message: Do not disappoint us.

Dean shivered involuntarily, more from the chill of his soaked clothes than fear. Poor bastard, he thought, revulsion forcing him to step around the blood and move quickly to the last staircase.

The air at the exposed top of the lighthouse was icy and damp, the wind chilling Dean to the bone and sticking his clothing to his skin. He stepped through the gate and walked out onto the platform surrounding the light. He peered out over the metal railing to the tumultuous water below. Unsure of what to do next, he turned to the lighthouse's central column- the large glass walls encasing the light. There was a door in the side, but Dean couldn't see anyone inside. Why isn't anyone else here? 

Feeling slightly panicked, Dean turned back to the gate only to discover that it was shut tight and locked from the other side. He yanked harder at the metal, but it wouldn't budge. Dean swore and glanced again over the edge at the ocean. How was he supposed to get out of here?

Slowly, he turned around to look at the door. It was adorned with three bells, each bearing an angel and a symbol: a sword, a key, and a scroll. He stared at it, unsure, for a moment before fishing the card from the box out of his pocket.

1-2-2. That was the code. Cautiously, he gave the first bell a hard tap, blinking in surprise when it rang loud and clear, a light coming on above the bell. He rang the second bell twice, wondering why he was supposed to be in the center of the lighthouse, then did the same for the third.

Nothing happened.

Warily, he turned around in a circle, trying to determine if anything had changed. Suddenly a foghorn blared from the center of the tower, the same tones that the bells had played when he'd rung them. There was an eerie red-orange light coming from the lighthouse, illuminating the clouds and casting a strange glow over the crashing waves below.

When the foghorn fell silent, Dean heard the clicking rattle of the door sliding open. With a shaky exhale of relief, he turned around only to find that although he could enter the epicenter of the lighthouse, the only thing inside was a red leather, mechanical-looking chair, which was turning and lowering itself into place as he watched. 

"Guess they want me to sit in their fancy chair," he muttered, trying to make sense of what was happening to him. Gingerly, he stepped forward and turned to sit down.

Almost immediately, cold metal bands snapped up around his wrists, locking him in place. Panic shot through him and he struggled hard against the restraints. The chair was turning, locking itself into place as huge metal plates rose up and slotted together. 

"Relax, pilgrim," cooed a soft, robotic voice, far too close to Dean's ear. "The bindings are there as a safeguard."

The plates clicked firmly into place, forming a metal shell around him. The chair spun and tilted forward. To Dean's dismay, his pistol slid forward and out, falling into the burners of... an engine? Before he could register any of it, he was sitting up straight again and he could hear the voice say, "Ascension in five, four..."

Ascension? Dean tried vainly to get out, but the metal was just too solid.

"Three, two..."

"No! Stop!"

He could hear the engine whirr and the lighthouse seemed to shake.

“One. Ascension.”

Suddenly Dean was rising, rising fast, his stomach dropping to his feet, his head spinning as the ocean sped past him, dropping lower and lower. The voice remained in his ear, insistently:

“Ten thousand feet, fifteen thousand feet..”

He was rising faster, his ears stinging sharply with the pressure. He could see his own reflection in the glass of the window. 

Then it stopped. He’d slowed down.

“Twenty thousand feet.” 

The vessel he was in had broken through the cloud barrier and now floated him gently in midair, thousands of feet above the earth. His head no longer pounded from the pressure, but his relief was overshadowed by pure wonderment. Throught the window, he could see something so amazing that he thought that he must be dreaming. 

A city. 

A city, floating in the sky. It was shining, golden, and Dean was sure for a moment that he was in heaven. He could see, in the distance, a towering statue of an angel, spreading her wings over the city. The voice in his ear was absolutely reverent:

“Hallelujah.”


End file.
